Yarima Abubakar | Twelve
DEMON IN A CROWN
—
"General, Jookwah." Preye, my head servant, bowed to me as he arrived by the poolside where Fadimah and I had been lounging all afternoon, sharing political conversations. "Ada, Jookwah." He bowed to Fadimah whose hair was getting threaded.
After the death of the commissioner of trade, a close friend of Fadimah, she became extra prickly about politics and spent hours on end criticizing the new commissioner and his new policies that sympathized with the white labor force.
Fadimah and I were polar opposites when it came to politics. Because of this, our afternoons together were never a boring affair, whether we were in the company of other high born Arjanians, or alone, sharing a plate of abacha and goat meat.
We had also been drinking chilled palm wine. Mostly Fadimah who was now slightly tipsy and laughing at every joke I told before flat out obliterating my view point.
"Preye, you haven't come to steal my brother's company have you?"
"No, Ada, a letter arrived for the General."
I sprung up from the sofa. "It's her!"
"Or maybe it's the elders reminding you of your negligent behavior towards your responsibilities."
"Oh, please, those cock heads always have something to complain about." My hands were quick in ripping apart the golden ropes that held the scroll together. "My beloved Yari," I read with a smile and butterflies fluttered in my heart.
"Ugh, in the name of the gods." Fadimah waved a hand.
"She seeks my presence. Preye, you're going shopping! A hundred lilies of the valley! A hundred peonies! Cocoa chocolate, dark and bitter! Two jars of lavender oil–"
"I don't know why you even bother," Fadimah interrupted my joyful listing. "She is the most powerful person on the continent. She can buy the moon if she so wishes."
"She is my wife. I'll buy her the stars if it pleases me, even if she owns the galaxy."
"She isn't your wife."
"Yet," I snarled.
"Leave us," Fadimah instructed the servants and they were quick to file out of the pavements.
"Well, Sister, I must ready myself to–"
"You must come to your senses, Yarima." Fadimah's caution stopped me from heading back into the castle.
"I didn't know I had lost it," I said, turning back to her.
"She's never going to marry you."
"Careful with your words, Sister."
"Seven years. Seven. You turn thirty soon, you aren't getting any younger."
I breathed a laugh. "That is the point of aging."
"Yarima." She shook her head, rising from her seat. "I do not say these words for jest. Nobody wants to marry a washed up thirty-year-old general who isn't rising in the ranks."
"Lose the frown, it isn't good for keeping wrinkles at bay. She will propose." I lifted my cup of palm wine to drink.
"And then what? You will be king? A ceremonial head of state with no real power. A general commands way more respect than a king, Yarima."
"In what twisted world do you live in, Sister?"
"You should be focusing on climbing up the ranks. You're still a one star general. Low in the ranks of power. If you want real power, you need to become a five star. No security decision in this kingdom would be taken without your approval. You would seat in the council and lead. A king does not sit in the council."
"This king would. You don't know her like I do."
"Open your eyes, Yarima. If she wished to do right by you, why didn't she marry you when you came of age. She has not sat on the throne in three hundred years. What makes you think she would now? This will not go the way you think it would, and people are beginning to whisper." She leaned in.
"And what is said in these whispers?"
"They call you her whore. A concubine."
I scoffed. "Of course they do."
With a defeated sigh, she folded her arms across her chest. "What are your thoughts about Obi Udume?"
"Udume Adachi?" She nodded her answer and I shrugged. "There are no thoughts."
"This Igbankwu season, he is ripe for marriage."
"I am aware."
"And, from what I saw at the Odogwu, he seems like the kind of life partner you'd enjoy. He'd make a fine husband is what I'm saying, Yarima. On your arms," she placed a hand on my chest, "or in your bed."
"You assume things, Sister."
"The things she does in that desert is not a secret, Yarima. Not anymore. The people with the power to increase your ranks know of these things and it diminishes you in their eyes. I wish only to protect you, and the name of our house. Keep heading down this road and you will sully it."
"Me?" My eyebrows pulled together. "Fadimah, I think you're already well on your way to destroying the family name. Not that it is yours anymore since you chose to marry a single child and take his name."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Iman Bashar." My answer came swift with intent to accuse.
At the sound of her name, Fadimah blinked, and I watched her eyes sink into herself. She continued to hold my gaze, though it threatened her peace. "The servant?"
"Your concubine." I smirked proudly. "Oh, sister. It is not judgment you hear in my voice. But an illegal affair is one of great impurity. Especially as a high born."
A minute of silence rested between us as she calculated her next words. Fadimah was always strategic with her words, never wanting to be in the wrong.
"How long have you known?" Her lips quivered.
"When the residence suddenly became an orphanage, I asked a few questions. You aren't as discreet as you believe yourself to be."
"Who else knows? Which one of our siblings? Does Mama and Papa know?"
"What do you take me for, Fadimah?"
"Are any of our siblings aware!" she barked, the nerves on her forehead straining.
"They are too conceited to care. But sooner or later they would. Why not do the right thing and declare Iman your legal concubine. Save yourself the embarrassment of an illegal affair."
"She is white."
"Hmm." I strolled back to my seat and sank into it, crossing my legs. "You know, in the western worlds, someone like Iman would be referred to as brown. Not a person without color."
"Wherever did you hear that?"
"From friends across the sea on my travels."
"I could care less about your friends across the sea. In Arjana she is white. Declaring a white woman my concubine alienates me from high society?"
"And here I was, harboring the belief that you love her."
"I do."
"Circumstantial love is not love."
"No high born in this kingdom has ever declared a slave partner or concubine without consequences."
"There are no slaves in Arjana."
"By Amadioha!" She huffed in annoyance. "You and that tone of superiority."
"Black, white, brown, when a needle pricks the skin, we all bleed red. And when we die, maggots and worms feast on our flesh alike. We are simply people, Fadimah."
"The white man did not see it so when he invaded Africa."
"I am not a white man."
"Remember that next time you're in the west. All they ever see is color."
"Seeing color is not the problem, Fadimah. It's what the color means to you that's the problem."
She took a step back away from me, letting out a sigh of exasperation. "Say me well to the queen that never rules." She continued past me, storming back into the castle.
My eyes followed her down the hallway as she angrily struggled to tighten the wrapper around her waist. Fadimah hated being called out for her wrongdoings just as much as I enjoyed it.
"Preye!" I called, springing up from my seat when Fadimah was beyond my sight.
"General," he answered, running towards me.
"Make haste, there is much to ready! We leave for the Desert of Asha at first light tomorrow."
***
At first light, we were air bound to the Desert of Asha in an enchanted balloon. I was impatient to see the curves of her face again. I hadn't seen her since my return from my travels across the sea.
Showing up uninvited to her temple was against the rules. So I waited. Two months abroad, one month back, and my eyes had not been blessed with the silhouette of her body. I craved the sight of her the way water craved the ocean. The way lungs craved air. The way plants craved soil.
Once I breathed the desert air, my spirit awakened. She was near. The woman whose fairness was as fierce and as quick as her anger, she was the beginning and the end of me. She was my star and my sun. The owner of my body, and the owner of my soul: Hareti.
I arrived at the temple before the sun was high in the sky and the giant gold doors to her chambers were pulled open. Marching carefully, I strode into her sun filled chambers.
Her chambers were on the highest floor in the temple. Designed and furnished with gold and diamond's to match Hareti's taste of luxurious beauty. In every corner were high windows that always remained ajar, allowing the warm desert breeze float the white curtains and sway the flowers.
It smelt like vanilla and ouds, her favorite perfume. The whole temple always smelt like it. I closed my eyes for a moment, relishing in the beauty and scent of it all. Three months away from her presence felt like a decade away, and every molecule of my being rejoiced to be in her temple again.
The servants carried in my gifts of flowers, chocolates and scented oils as I continued into her innermost private quarters, where the walls were adorned with rare priceless art and sculptures, older than my grandparents, many of which she hid away during colonization to stop invaders from stealing Arjanian art and exporting it to the west.
The room was opulent and grandeur in pink hues, her favorite color. And as the servants put down the flowers, it blossomed some more. My gaze flickered across the room before landing on her favorite tiger skin cushion, facing a tall window and backing me. Though I couldn't see her, a little smile danced across my lips and the butterflies in my stomach joined.
"Yari," Hareti's honey voice called my name, making me melt. She threw a hand over the cushion's backrest, flickering fingers adorned in gold and sapphire rings. Her long nails were pointed and painted pink, while the rest of her hand was covered in regal henna art. "Is that you, My Beloved?"
Smitten, my smile stretched. "It is I, Your Majesty."
She rose from the cushion like an eagle ascending into my gaze. Her blue eyes crashed into mine like the wave of a calm ocean, and then a beautiful chuckle came from her.
"You brought me flowers," Hareti said, resting her chin on the back of her palm.
"And chocolate. Bitter cocoa chocolate, Your Majesty." Both our hearts were reaching out to each other from across the room and we let a second of silence pass. "Lilies and peonies too." I took a step further.
"Oh how I have missed peonies." Her face glimmered with so much prettiness.
"They say it could soften even the heart of a dragon. A flower for the fairest of hearts."
"You think me fair?" She made a shy face. Hareti loved her gifts served with a ton of compliments to match.
"The fairest heart of them all, Your Majesty."
She giggled beautifully and stretched out her hand to me. "Do not be away from my touch any longer. Come so I may feel you."
I hastened my steps towards her, stretching out my hand as I neared her, impatient to feel her touch. Two magical hearts, once again reunited.
The second our fingers touched, Hareti pulled me harder than a bow's string over the cushion, and we rolled down to the floor. Her hand wrapped tight around my neck the second my back hit the floor, and her favorite dagger, with steel forged in the volcano of Mount Nyiragongo of The Kingdom of Congo that could cut through rocks and tungsten pressed against my throat. I groaned and attempted to swallow. I was hard before a blink met my eyes.
"I should gut you like a pig." Her voice was callous, but calm.
She lifted a brow at me, and slowly, I released my grip on her hands, lowering them to her exposed thighs, then trailed it upwards until they were at her slim waist, tenderly rubbing.
"Owner of my soul," I croaked, finding it difficult to speak against the tightness of her grip. "Tell me how I have forsaken you. If it was my tongue, I would dig it out of my mouth and throw it into the flames, and if it was my right arm, I would cut it off and burn it as sacrifice at your temple."
She narrowed her eyes at me and the side of my lips twitched from sheer joy.
"A poem of flattery will not free you from my anger." Her honey voice came like a sneaky thief at night to steal my senses as she deepened her dagger into my neck.
"Then what shall, My Beloved. Tell me. If my body has sinned against you, do me a kindness and bury me alive in your grave, so when you finally come to rest, be it a thousand years from now, I shall know your warmth again."
Hareti was a woman faster to anger and rage than lightning in the middle of a storm. Both from her curse and her character. It made her lose trust in herself as Queen, but made me throb and ache in unholy ways. Her anger, however fierce, was always easy to soothe with the right words.
"You've hidden things from me, My Beloved."
"Lower your dagger, Owner of My Soul. Let's find reason in words, not blood."
She crouched lower, bringing her pretty face to mine and I grew painfully larger between my legs, stifling a whimper and struggling to stop my hips from grinding against her in undemanded need.
"Have you grown wary of my wrath?"
"Quite the opposite, My Beloved. Your wrath is all I crave. But, it brings you no joy when the moment isn't right," I whispered.
My body trembled for more, a bite, scratch, it wanted to be intertwined with her and be reminded what it meant to bend to her will.
"Does slavery still live in my kingdom?" she asked softly. "Lie to me and I will be sure to drive this dagger into the very depths of your neck."
I giggled and closed my eyes to relish in her scent. "No, My Beloved," I muttered. "May I be kissed?"
"You are in no position to seek a reward."
I nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Speak the truth."
"Legally. No. But–"
I felt her dagger leave my throat and her body was gone from mine. My eyes blinked open and I sat up to find her standing beside the window with the flowing curtains dancing around with her lavender gown.
"But?" she said, looking into the horizon of sand and sun.
"Segregation is at its peak. Most white people can't afford a livable wage, education, anything really."
"And you never saw it fit to bring this to my knowledge?" she spoke in an irritated annoyed tone, turning back to me.
"Your Majesty. You loathe talking about Arjana."
"A fallacy."
"It is true, Hareti. I have tried to tender your kingdom's misgivings before you and you've turned a blind eye." I rose from the floor. "Have I not urged you to return and rule, have I not begged, and groveled?"
"You know why I cannot return, Yari," she said as I joined her by the window, overlooking the desert sands.
"There is no war, Hareti. You have nothing to fear."
"There are people. Human beings are the most monstrous of beings. Their ways are filled with deceit. They'll provoke me to anger. I cannot trust myself with my politics."
"There is no other that can rule your kingdom, Reti. The white man's disease, racism and slavery grows. It infects their hearts, turning it to stone."
Her eyes were pained and softened when she held my gaze with a pout on her lips. "This thing within me will not see the day that I return." She placed her nurturing hand on her stomach. "It craves destruction, Yari. It craves to be born."
I placed my right hand over hers on her stomach, then cupped her face with my left. She melted into my touch, closing her for a moment and cooing softly as she blossomed for me like a sunflower being kissed by the morning sun.
"You are not your demons, Hareti," I spoke softly, caressing her cheek with my thumb. "You are a queen."
***
I'm a Yarima supremacist.
Gentle reminder to vote.